What is it about the internet and kittens, for goodness’ sake? There are far too many pictures of them.
Okay, that’s too provocative. Let’s move on.
She Who Dislikes Being Referred To This Way has been away for a few days. I had presumed that I would sleep better without the snoring, and the duvet being constantly pulled off me, but I was wrong.
For some reason, I’ve not slept particularly well at all.
Perhaps it was the wild parties I’ve no idea why not.
I had intended to begin a painting, maybe even get it finished, but although I carefully planned said painting, even finding a few resource pictures to use, once I sat down in front of the paper, it just refused to happen. My mind went completely blank and my enthusiasm kicked the wall sulkily for a few moments and then ran out of the house sobbing.
Oh well, back to the writing.
I did have a few ideas for short stories and, because I know how to use my time both productively and wisely, immediately started writing two of them, as well as continuing with both the novels I’m writing. That’s what you’re meant to do, right? Isn’t it?
Oh, and a poem.
And, of course, I need to do research for all the various Tales In Process. Isn’t it amazing what a little bit of research throws up?
Here are just a couple of little snippets, a few gobbets of curiosity, that I have come across recently while researching topics in medieval Persia and India, for use in my #1 Novel In Progress, The Assassin’s Garden.
All of the prostitutes in Fatephur Sikri, India, during the short time that it was Akhbar’s capital, were kept in an area just outside the city called ‘The Devil’s Quarter’.
You do get sidetracked, of course, but perhaps that will be an integral part of the plot? Possible spoiler alert?
I wouldn’t like to say.
And at one point, there is a long journey undertaken in my book, by caravan.
‘Caravan’ is a Persian word, I discover. That seems appropriate. In some parts of Persia they would travel by day and rest by night.
In others, the reverse was true. Something to do with the temperature, I expect.
In the nineteenth century, there were caravans that existed just to transfer corpses to holy cities for burial. These disappeared in the early twentieth century, largely due to better understanding of how diseases spread!
And, obviously, I mean the caravans that are chock full of camels and traders and an ill-assorted collection of ne’er-do-wells, not the wretched giant metal boxes blocking ninety percent of our roads as soon as the weather shows even the faintest promise of a few hours of sunshine.
But enough of caravans, for now, I’ve got some words to beat into shape.
Oh, and there are still people who would prefer pictures of kittens?
Mick Canning 